Thursday, 9 December 2010

These are the beautiful window handles in parts of my mansion. During Winter, the mansion is a lovely warm place. It needs repainting. Warm mansions are where I can burp and fart without watching my own gas freeze or condensate. This I like a lot. I wish they made handles like they used to. The more modern part of my mansion is so unoriginal and lacks genuine authenticity that one gives to period mansions. Don't you think?

I like Winter because I'm reminded of Russian wintery spy novels from the Cold period. So I attempt to spy on people on the streets through keyholes and shit. Joseph Conrad trudging in the snow.

I like watching shit crystallise like a chemistry set or nature. Stuff still growing covered in icicles. That is something beautiful. Like a human cryogenically frozen. I'm reminded of demolition man with Snipes and Stallone, when they release loads of liquid nitrogen and Snipes gets frozen. Stallone kicks off Snipes head in the end and it smashes into shards. Wow! (I mean now it looks terrible, but as a kid the effects are amazing), but it is this thing of beauty trapped in glass. Trapped in Ice. The crazy artist spotted this on his way home one day.

Rose hip plip lip plop pop. you look so happeee....soooooo...happyeeees you doo dooo doooo?? (I like talking to flowers like mothers with new born babies, because neither can understand us).

A rose caught in the frozen lovedy dove of Winter, "come on the countryside" the kids chant in their thermaline gloves. "I'll pie you in the face with my snowcake"... Alton Castle walks and Graveyard hunts for red breasted robins still surviving the cold. All the memories flash back of eating snow with sticks for spoons. A few frozen ants on a fire.

the colour red, the colour white, all light up the bush, a site to see, in the cold breeze, I froze my bollocks off, too long I'll catch a cough, whilst I photograph, this flower in my head makes me laugh, why out loud though that's bad? now the passing lady thinks I'm a little mad! I whisper to rose, I'm going to write some prose, that rhythm a little later than you expected to hear in this thing I see you dancing with the flowers. Stranger get out of my bush! that is for the old folks to look, at me prancing with my camera hopping with one knee jutting out, Run away the gardener shouts! I was having fun in the Winter now it's time to disa-splinter into shards behind the path where the man can no longer see me laugh. haha! burp. Fart. Back in the mansion. wiyoarghhhurrumerrr...